Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping.
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Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping.
If I wanted to destroy a nation, I would give it too much and I would have it on its knees, miserable, greedy and sick.
Texas is a state of mind. Texas is an obsession. Above all, Texas is a nation in every sense of the word. And there's an opening convey of generalities. A Texan outside of Texas is a foreigner.
When I was very young and the urge to be someplace was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked. In other words, I don't improve, in further words, once a bum always a bum. I fear the disease is incurable.
When two people meet, each one is changed by the other so you got two new people. Maybe that means: hell, it's complicated.
We could live offa the fatta the lan'.
There used to be a thing or a commodity we put great store by. It was called the People. Find out where the People have gone. I don't mean the square-eyed toothpaste-and-hair-dye people or the new-car-or-bust people, or the success-and-coronary people. Maybe they never existed, but if there ever were the People, that's the commodity the Declaration was talking about, and Mr. Lincoln.
No man really knows about other human beings. The best he can do is to suppose that they are like himself.